sugar spit sentiment
by elincia
Summary: Up in my lonely room, oh, what can I do? LeonKadaj


**Title: **sugar spit sentiment  
**Author: **keelhaul lizzie  
**Pairings:** Leon/Kadaj  
**Rating:** R  
**Genres:** Humour/Drama  
**Summary:** Up in my lonely room, oh, what can I do?  
**Wordcount:** 601  
**Warnings: **yaoi, theoretical character... existence, general exercise in pointlessness.  
**Date: **April 9, 2007; finished July 20, 2007.

_notes_: I don't know _what_ possessed me to write this. Oh, gosh.  
Let us just assume for a moment that Kadaj and co. were part of the Hollow Bastion crew before Sephiroth.  
Song lines are from the Coral and Babes in Toyland, respectively.

----

_oh he fucks real mean._

At Leon's sixteenth birthday party, Kadaj gets the biggest slice of ice cream cake—the one with the pink sugar petals, green sugar leaves. Leon (Squall, since he is young and only sullen instead of fucked) sits back and watches him eat it with a certain sense of relish—that whining little shit always has to have the most cake, the biggest balloons; if Leon were enough of a douchebag to play pin the tail on the donkey, he's certain that Kadaj would pitch a fit if he lost. That little brat, that spoiled little fuck—Hollow Bastion's _petit prince_.

The way Kadaj looks at him from under his lashes, with coloured sugar on his mouth, his pink-and-green sugar lips—it makes Leon's insides squirm.

"Happy birthday, Squall," Aerith says as she pushes her present toward him, all shiny paper and cotton-candy-tissue like a goddamn wedding cake; Leon replies with a "what" because he's too busy wishing he was Kadaj's fork. That little bastard.

"He's much more talkative than usual," Yuffie says and steals some of Cid's cake; Cid is wearing a yellow party hat and is drunk as a skunk and is probably about thirty-five, eating ice cream cake with a bunch of dumb castle-town kids.

Naturally, a mini-cake-war begins between the two of them, and ends abruptly when Yuffie flings sticky-sweet vanilla ice cream like a whole lot of come into Kadaj's hair.

It suits him, but Leon needs a cigarette.

Up in his room he lights up and thinks about how fucking stupid birthday parties are, how he doesn't want any presents or cake or balloons because he isn't a five-year-old girl and for god's sake, everyone is ridiculous except him.

_Especially_ Kadaj—Leon (Squall) is still in that hair-pulling, pushing-and-shoving stage and will be damned if he gets any of Kadaj's cooties.

Kadaj, who followed him all the way up the stairs and enters his big-boy-bedroom, rock posters on the walls; his hair is clean, his mouth still dirty.

"Don't you like your party?" he says, mouth full of melting strawberry ice cream, green party hat askew on his head.

Leon snorts and blows smoke in his general direction.

"And to think, I haven't even given you _my_ present yet."

"Is it a head in a jar?"

"Maybe." Kadaj settles on the edge of his plaid bedspread, a pretty little prince in a sea of snips and snails and puppydog tails. "Something like that."

"Whatever it is, I don't want it."

"Head?"

"What?"

"Exactly."

And Kadaj sets his paper plate on the floor, rights his party hat—because _dammit_, parties aren't parties without rightwise crowns—and slithers forward and falls out of his girly shirt a little and dives for the button of Leon's jeans, fingers pink and child-sticky.

Leon's boxers are plaid.

Kadaj works him into hardness, slowly, getting his dick real sticky, and lowers his dirty mouth.

Leon blows smoke in his face, and snubs out his cigarette on his bedside table.

"So, can I come in your hair?"

Kadaj sniffs, and the party hat, green like his eyes, like his little sugar mouth, slides down a little farther.

And when he _does_ come it's in his mouth, full of come and strawberry icing and little bits of cake, wedding cake like Aerith's stupid five-year-old girl present.

But not quite.

His dick is sticky with spit and icing and little kid food, but he just lights up another one.

"You know," Kadaj says, "it kind of tasted like strawberry."

He wipes his filthy mouth, and gets pink and green sugar all over his face; a wasted flower.

Little bastard.


End file.
